


Collaboration

by TechnoPoet



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode: s05e15 The Long Goodbye Job, Established OT3, Fake Character Death (mentioned), Multi, Violence (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnoPoet/pseuds/TechnoPoet
Summary: Nate shook his head, exhausted. "They're not going to believe any of this.""They don’t have to believe it for very long," Sophie countered. “Just…longenough.”(Nate's writing a story to tell Interpol for The Long Goodbye Job. The rest of the team have some...opinions.)
Relationships: Background Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	Collaboration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wonderbound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderbound/gifts).



Nate cleared his throat. "Let’s go over this one more time. So, Hardison falls down the elevator shaft."

Parker hopped up onto the nearest barstool and peered over at his notes. "That's not going to work."

Nate looked up, blinking. "Why not?"

Parker scoffed. "Well, I wouldn't let him fall. Obviously."

Nate stared at her for a solid three seconds and then sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “How about this, then: the ‘security guard’ shoots you, and that’s what makes your hand slip.”

Parker rolled her eyes. “Okaaay, If you want to pretend that that would work..."

Nate scratched out that line in the notebook and wrote a note next to it. "Whatever, sure,” he said. “You get shot, Hardison falls down the elevator shaft. Then Eliot runs for the van and the 'guard' shoots him-"

A voice rang out from the kitchen, "In the chest."

Nate briefly looked towards the ceiling in a “why _me?_ ”-type gesture, then called back, "Say again?"

Eliot appeared behind the bar, only half-focused on the knife he was sharpening. “Look, man; a bullet in the shoulder or leg or somethin’ isn’t gonna take me down.” He slammed the knife down on the bartop for dramatic effect, making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact as he insisted, “It’s gotta be a shot to the heart.”

Nate instinctively leaned away, and glanced over at Parker. She nodded sagely.

“He’s right.” Hardison spoke up from the table in the back where he’d set up his laptop. “He took a bullet to the shoulder _and_ one to the leg in D.C. and was out for like an hour, tops.”

“See?” Eliot raised his eyebrows and went back to sharpening. “But don’t feel bad.” He smiled in a way that was a little unsettling. “You’re not the first one to have made that mistake.”

“...Oh- _kay_ ,” Nate managed, “you take a bullet to the chest, fall into the van, we drive into the river. That’s the story.”

“Not just ‘into the river’,” Sophie said, walking into the room. “That’s too _simple_.” She leaned over his shoulder and pushed the notebook out of the way, replacing it with a printed-out map. “I think we should try... _here._ ” She pointed.

Nate turned, stared at her, and then kept staring. “You’re joking.”

“If they set up a barricade, it’ll be open,” Sophie said. “If we time it right, we can even say we got there just _as_ it opened, it’ll be _perfect!”_

“Let me get this straight,” Nate said. “You want us to use the _open_ Broadway Bridge to _launch_ the van into the river?”

“C’mon, you can’t…” Hardison came up behind Parker and put an arm around her shoulders. “She...‘the van’ has a _name_ , man! We’ve been over this.”

Nate ignored him. “Sophie, we’re already pushing it here. Do you really think-”

“We should be holding hands,” Parker interrupted.

Nate looked at her again, already regretting his next question. “What?”

“In Lucille, when we die. We’re together, so we should be holding hands.” She reached for Eliot, who had come up to stand beside Hardison, and he took her hand. “ _All_ of us,” she clarified.

“I call being in the middle,” Eliot muttered.

“Oh, you think so?” Hardison held out his fist, challenging him.

Eliot shook his head. “I told you, you have a _tell.”_

“Yeah? So why do I keep beating you?”

“Because I _let you-_ ”

“Guys,” Nate spoke loudly and held up a hand, cutting them off. “You realize that if this works I’ll be telling this story to Interpol. _In-ter-pol,_ ”he repeated slowly for emphasis.

Parker spoke quietly, “You don’t wanna tell Interpol we were holding hands?” Her face fell, and Eliot and Hardison exchanged a sympathetic look before turning to glare at Nate.

“I–” Nate looked to Sophie, hoping that his expression conveyed just how _desperately_ he needed her to be the voice of reason here.

"Well...” Sophie hesitated, tilting her head thoughtfully. “It _is_ very romantic..."

Nate shook his head, exhausted. "They're not going to believe any of this."

"They don’t have to believe it for very long," Sophie countered. “Just…long _enough.”_

Four sets of eyes stared at him, waiting patiently.

“Fine,” he conceded, “ _fine_. Parker gets shot at, Hardison falls down the elevator shaft, Eliot takes a bullet to the chest. You die holding hands, we use the bridge as a ramp and jump _Lucille_ into the river. Anything else?”

There were a few seconds of silence as everyone thought, and then Eliot added, “...and I’m in the middle.”

“Like hell you are,” Hardison objected, “you’ve gotta play me for it, fair and square.”

“Damn it, Hardison…”

Their bickering faded into background noise as Nate sighed, flipped to a new page in his notebook, and started reworking the plan.


End file.
